


Guns, Gasoline, and Gods

by GlitchDragoon



Category: Mad Max (Video Game 2015)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Character Growth, Fictional Mythology, Fist Fights, Game Spoilers, Gore, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mad Max AU, Magnum Opus, Revenge, Slavery, Slow Burn, Swearing, Trauma, Violence, doing what it takes to survive, some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 05:10:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18844291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitchDragoon/pseuds/GlitchDragoon
Summary: What is left of a man when he has no memories of who he is? What is left of a god who has no memories of their divine existence? In all reality, what's left is a mess. It's nothing too unusual for the wild wasteland the world has become.Max is defeated in battle and nearly killed by the warlord Scabrous Scrotus. He's saved from untimely death by forces unknown, but pays a heavy price for his life. He must become another person entirely in order to continue. He sets out into his new life as an aimless wanderer, not knowing that his actions with shake the world, and the heavens, to their very core.





	Guns, Gasoline, and Gods

**Author's Note:**

> Um… Hi there! I don’t usually publish my works, but I’ve recently been inspired to give it a try. My interests are really varied, and my AU’s may seem silly to diehard fans of the source material. But that’s okay. I have fun writing this stuff, I hope others can enjoy it too. Please feel free to comment! I’d love to hear thoughts on my first published work. (And thank you for reading!) -Glitch

Max’s ears are filled with the wild roar of engines. His mind has gone entirely blank. There’s nothing left save for his anger, and his desire to reclaim what is his.

  
His car shakes violently beneath him, threatening to toss him the moment his grip on the hood falters. Every hash jostle from the war machine towing it only worsens the situation, shaking the poor black car to bits along with the wild-eyed man clinging to it. Max barely manages to stay upright, lunging at the crude metal arm and chains connecting his vehicle to his abductor’s. His flailing hands move without logic, striking and tugging at the metal with no success. Max’s own furious roar joins that of the engines around him, his mouth filling with foul exhaust.

  
War Boys circle in their vehicles, whooping and howling as they watch the ragged, blooded man scrambling to climb the war machine. None of them shoot, or launch anything in his direction. They could easily take him out while he clambers up the wildly shaking metal. But why should they, when they can instead wait to see their glorious leader rip this ballsy man apart himself? Seeing Scabrous Scrotus in the heat of battle is always a treat for them. So they circle like vultures in their noisy cars, watching and waiting eagerly for the kill to come.

  
Max hauls himself up onto the war machine’s platform with a grunt, finding his footing quickly enough. It”s easier than balancing on his car’s hood. He draws himself up to his full height to glare at Scrotus, fists balled at his sides. His gun is gone, and he has nothing left but his hands as weapons. His mind doesn’t manage to alert him that this could be a problem. He hears only static and engines as Scrotus points in his direction.

  
“Rip his throat out!”

  
Max’s eyes dart down at those words, seeing a weathered and scarred black dog crouching at Scrotus’ feet. It’s snarling, bearing jagged fangs for only a moment before lunging. Max strikes out on instinct, managing to land a solid kick on the beast’s head. It doesn’t stop though, lunging for Max’s arm. Teeth connect with flesh, and Max sees red. An inhuman noise escapes his throat as he swings his arm in a wide arc, carting the dog with it, and smashes the animal into the platform’s crude railing. The dog yelps, releasing Max as it suffers a gash from the rough metal. It takes a few steps back from the bloodied human, seeming to lose the vicious confidence it had before. The animal doesn’t even get the chance to make another attempt at attacking before Scrotus rises from his twisted metal throne.

  
“Your worthless cur!” the huge man bellows, lifting the dog by the back of its crude armor. The dog can only let out a weak whimper before Scrotus turns, flinging the animal over the side of the platform and crashing into the ground below. It’s lost immediately in the frenzy of dust and tires. Max is unfazed, his eyes never leaving the huge warlord in front of him. He crouches down and prepares for an attack, his blood dripping to the metal below. His lips pull back in a feral snarl. Scrotus laughs at this, his voice booming with the engine of this massive vehicle. “You’re like a feral dog yourself… Now die like one!”

  
Scrotus snatches a staff weapon from beside his throne, harshly tugging a chord attached to it. The chainsaw fixed on the end roars to life. The buzz, so close to Max where he stands, is all consuming. Nothing is left in his mind. A roar tears out of his throat as he lunges. His flailing arms meet the staff of Scrotus’ weapon, bouncing uselessly off the metal. Scrotus maneuvers his weapon in the cramped space, striking at Max with what restricted force he can muster. Max staggers, but manages to stay on his feet. He doesn’t even try to block the blunt hits. The pain doesn’t register. He stays close to Scrotus; too close for the warlord to swing the chainsaw at him.

  
The two of them dance around the metal platform, Max’s mindless fury countering Scrotus’ most dangerous moves. When an opening appears, Max instinctively lunges in. His hands lock around the handle of the weapon. Scrotus is taken off guard enough for the staff to be pushed in his direction, the buzzing blade passing dangerously close to his head. He easily dodges his own weapon, shouting something foul as he shoves Max away with his full force. The already battered man tumbles to the ground, his face hitting the rusted metal hard. He’s almost instantly scrambling to get up, but Scrotus quickly brings his foot down on Max’s back. Max howls and thrashes, nothing but animal instinct as he tries to escape from beneath the massive warlord’s boot. He’s trapped, and Scrotus is laughing loudly as he watches the driver flail.

  
“Pathetic!” Scrotus declares, adjusting his grip on his weapon as he draws it up for a finishing strike. Max twists and locks eyes with the warlord, wordlessly snarling as blood drips from a gash across his nose. His eyes flick to the buzzing blade that’s about to end his life, sparking desperation in him, urging him to do something, anything, to escape. But then his eyes flick even further to the side. Something in the sky, above the imposing figure of Scrotus, is a red light. It almost looks like a small, red sun… Impossible, since the sun is already sitting higher in the sky above them. Max can’t seem to pull his eyes away from it, going still as his mind goes utterly blank. As he stares, the red object is getting bigger. Scrotus just laughs, taking Max’s still confusion as submission.

  
“That’s right, give in! Give your last moments alive to me!” Scrotus’ eyes are glittering with sadistic glee. The red thing behind him is growing even bigger… no. It’s coming closer. Max’s eyes widen as he begins thrashing again. What in the name of all _fuck_. “It’s too late for that now,” Scrotus goads, entirely unaware of the anomaly speeding towards his war machine. “You filthy pest! I’m going to mount your head on my gate!”

  
Everything is moving in slow motion. Scrotus is cackling. The red orb is now the size of a small car in the sky. War Boys are noticing it, shrieking in fear and swerving away from where it seems to be headed. They’re all crying out to warn Scrotus, but the warlord can’t hear. The chainsaw is swinging down in a tight arc towards Max’s neck. Max is helpless, still madly struggling as the burning red thing makes passing contact with the top of Scrotus’ precious war machine.  
Everything is chaos.

  
Smoke and dust fill the super-heated air. War Boys swerve so hard that their cars flip. Spilled fluids burst into flame. There are at least two explosions. Everyone is shouting in fear and confusion. The top platform of Scrotus’ war machine is destroyed, but the roar of the warlord himself can still be heard as the machine trundles on in a desperate attempt to escape the area before inspecting any damages.

  
The remaining cars in the war party flee without further damages… or any consideration to the limp body of their adversary, sprawled out in the sand beside the road and surrounded by scorched ground.


End file.
